Sigil
by Sicatriz
Summary: Telekinesis: the ability to move objects at a distance by mental power or other nonphysical means. Sigil: an inscribed or painted symbol considered to have magical power. My name is Taylor Hebert. These are my powers, and this is my story.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Worm is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me play in your sandbox._

 _Special thanks to my beta reader and friend Mat._

 **Trigger**

I wake in darkness.

Horribly cramped, the first thing thing I notice is the smell.

Fucking Sophia and Emma. Sorry, I don't usually swear, but I think I've earned a little leeway given the situation. Right before first period, they'd pushed me into a locker filled with used tampons and pads. Worse yet, it was my locker.

Now I'm trapped, covered in my own vomit. I pled to be let out, then begged. The only response was laughter and mocking calls, followed promptly by my own tears. No one was going to help me. Emma and Sophia have the students cowed, and the faculty wrapped around their fingers.

Ok, I must have passed out. It's dark, no sounds of movement. Take a moment to assess the situation. Trapped in a locker, and no one around. No use in shouting out for help. No phone either, not since Mom died.

Crap.

Looking down I can see a sliver of light showing through the slats of the locker. Maybe I can reach through them with something? No, what good will that do me.

Then it happened.

I could _feel_ something moving through the slats in the locker.

What is _that_?

It's almost as if I can see, or maybe sense is a better word, via a strange aura. Is this real, or have I lost my mind? Crazy or not, I might as well try to use this new power to free myself.

Pushing through the slats, I quickly feel around the outside  
of my locker, eventually sensing the lock on the left side of the its face. Wrapping a tendril of power around the lock I pull, and with a sudden metallic _ping_ I feel the lock give way.

Well that just happened, guess I didn't have a psychotic break. Joy.

I guess this makes me a cape. A parahuman.

Testing my new abilities I create another tendril and use it to manipulate the latch on the locker. Locker opened, I nearly fall out into the hall. Jeez, they really crammed me in there. Stretching, I realize how awful I smell.

What do I do now?

Thank god none of the cameras work in this school. Bending down, I pick up the broken lock. Better to not leave any evidence behind.

Holding the lock in my hand, I gently cover it with my power. Slowly applying increasing pressure, I watch as the lock is crushed into a small ball no bigger than a D20.

Don't look at me like that, Dad was a big D&D fan in college. I know things.

Slowly making my way towards the showers, my muscles unwind with each step. I turn on the shower in the first stall and wait for the water heat up. Entering the stall I sit down, letting the water course over me, and think about what I should do next.

Standing up, I use my new power to clean off the used feminine products, bugs, and vomit from my clothing and skin. Man, they must have been planning for weeks considering how rotten these are. No way am I going to touch any of this crap with my bare hands.

Slightly cleaner, but much wetter, I shiver as I move to the locker room's exit. Moving quickly through the halls, I finally get to an exit I've only seen used by delinquents trying to skip out early. I approach the door and try the handle. Damn! Of course it's locked.

I shouldn't brute force this, not if I don't want the school blaming me.

Reaching out with a thread of power, I examine the lock. I can feel pins inside the lock. They're called tumblers I think. Focus Taylor, the name doesn't matter right now! Realizing I am on the verge of panicking I take one deep breath. With my power already inside, I exhale and start to expand the thread to fill the lock. After a few moments I can feel the tumblers are in the correct position. With a small effort of thought I turn my key of "hard air".

Hard air. God that sounds dumb. I'll think of something better once I'm out of here.

Pushing the door open I step out into the teacher's parking lot. It's quiet and dark and I know the parking lot's lights wouldn't be off unless it was after 10. Dad must be flipping out. Luckily there's a small bank of payphones about 100 feet from the school.

Walking up to the payphones, I give them a quick once over. Only one of the five is in working order. The other four have been defaced and damaged. Stupid gangs. Picking up the receiver, I suddenly realize that I don't have any change on me. Perfect. Can this night get any worse?

Looking at one of the four broken payphones, I get an idea. Reaching out with my power, I grip the bottom plate that has the keyhole for the change receptacle. With a gentle, but ever increasing pressure, I pull on the plate. The edges of the plate begin to bend.

 _Ping_!

Plate ripped free, I inspect the box inside, finding $5.50 in change. More than enough, thank god.

On the second ring my dad picks up, "Taylor? Please tell me you're alright," my dad said in a rush. The second I hear my dad's voice my eyes immediately start to tear up.

"Dad? Can you come get me? I'm in front of Winslow," I barely get out past the sob in my throat.

"Winslow? Why are you still at school? Taylor, it's nearly midnight!" I can hear the exasperation in his voice.

"Please just come get me. I'll explain everything on the way home," I manage to get out.

"Alright honey, I'll be there in about 10 minutes. Just hold on. I love you." More tears pour down my face.

"I love you too Dad."

I sit down on the curb and wait for Dad to arrive, thinking back on the day. Damn, what a catastrophe. The more I think about it, the more dread and panic set in.

They could have killed me.

They _wanted_ to kill me. I'm sure of it.

I can't deal with this any more. The pushes, the tripping down the stairs. Ruining my homework and stealing my Mom's flute. It's just too much. I can't bear it!

My mind is spinning and I start to hyperventilate.

I'm unconscious when my dad arrives 10 minutes later and rushes me to the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fall Out**

* * *

Strong disinfectants failing to cover the smell of fecal matter is the first thing I notice. Groggily, I regain my faculties.

Hospitals. Yuck.

Looking out the window I see I have a decent view of the bay at least. Brockton Bay, New England, about an hour's drive north of Boston. It's January, so there's plenty of snow on the ground.

Glancing around the room I see Dad slumped in a chair pulled up right beside the bed.

My dad, Danny Hebert, is the head of hiring for the Dockworkers Association, though most people treat him as if he runs the place. Times have been hard for the DWA since the civil unrest that led to the mass sinking of ships in the mouth of the bay.

One of his hands is slightly stretched out, as if he was reaching for me. He must have been holding my hand when he feel asleep.

Tears well up again, but I manage to hold them back. I need to get a hold of myself. Looking around a little more I notice that there is an I.V. inserted into my right forearm. Damn, how long have I been here?

Reaching out, I take Dad's hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze. Dad jerks awake and sits up straight.

"Taylor, thank god you're awake. I've been worried sick. Please don't ever do that to me again." I feel a warmth in my chest at his words. Since Mom died, Dad and I had been drifting apart more and more each month.

"I'm sorry Dad. I didn't mean for this to happen. How long have I been here?"

"Taylor," my dad sighs sleepily, "it's been three days. I was so worried when I pulled up to the school and saw you just lying there in the street. What happened? Where were you there so late? And why were you soaking wet?"

"Dad…" I have to stop for a moment as my throat closes up a little. I try again, "Dad, ever since I started at Winslow I've been getting bullied almost every single day." Tears silently and slowly run down my cheeks.

"The month leading up to Christmas break, things were starting to get better. They were basically just ignoring me, which was fine. Looking back, I should have realized they were just setting me up for something big. First day after break, I headed for my locker and could tell something was off. As I got closer to my locker I could smell something revolting. Once I got my locker open… it was stuffed with used tampons and pads. They were rotting and covered with bugs crawling everywhere. The smell made me sick, and I doubled over to vomit. That's when someone, I'm almost positive it was Sophia, grabbed me from behind and shoved me into the locker."

I continued to tell the story, only leaving out any mention of my power. After that it was just a constant stream of information from me.

I tell Dad everything about the school years leading up to this. Emma. Sophia. The betrayal. I give as much detail as I can. I tell him about my folder documenting the bullying. About the pictures I've taken of every bruise and scrape.

The longer I talk, the redder his face gets. Eventually he stands up, pacing. "I'm going to talk to Alan. There's no way he doesn't have at least some idea about what's been going on." Alan was Emma's father. He was an expensive divorce lawyer and ran in higher social circles than our family. He and Dad had been friends for longer than I'd been alive.

"Dad," I get out with a tired sigh, "it won't do any good. I've gone to teachers, the principle, everyone says the same thing. Unless I can provide proof, there's nothing they can do. That's why I started keeping records! Emma's popular, attractive, and rich. Sophia is the school's track star. The girls back up one another's stories, so no one believes me."

Still pacing my dad tries again, "No. Alan's a friend, I'm sure I can make him see reason."

"Dad, at the end of freshman year I called Mr. Barnes to tell him about all this. He tried to play it off as kids being kids. No way could his precious daughter be mean or cruel. He promised that he'd say something to Emma, and that everything would work itself out."

"Fat load of crap that did. It just made Emma and Sophia come at me harder at the start of sophomore year. 'Punishment for snitching,' they said. Mr. Barnes has too much money and is too connected for us to beat him. Just let it go Dad." As I finish talking I hang my head. Just saying it out loud makes me feel even more hopeless.

"No!" I whip my head up at the strength in Dad's voice. "Alan's not the only one with influence in this town. Your dad doesn't just sit at work twiddling his thumbs all day. For the past five years I've been trying to get the Mayor and City Council to approve a project to get the ferry up and running again. We'll just see who has more influence."

I swear I could hear a little smugness in his voice. It was good to see Dad fired up about something for once. We'd both been in downward spirals since Mom passed.

"Honey, you stay here. Rest and get better. Hopefully I'll only be gone a few hours. I love you. I'll take care of this."

And with that he left the room.

* * *

 _5 hours later_

Normally, sitting in a hospital room by yourself for hours with nothing but bad daytime TV to watch would be extremely boring. Well, normal can kiss my butt. I've got a new power to play with. Boring just flew out the window.

Concentrating, I cast my power about the room. Bit by bit I form a picture in my mind of where everything is, even with my eyes closed.

Gingerly, I move a few things around. Slowly and not too far so as not to arouse suspicion. Nurses come and go at irregular intervals, so I need to be careful.

This is freaking awesome.

I'm hovering my glasses a few inches above my lap when Dad barges back into the room.

There's a triumphant smile plastered on his face. I quickly drop the glasses and put them on.

"Taylor, please tell your Dad he's awesome." Um, what?

"Uh...you're awesome?" Crap, that comes out as a question. Let's try again.

"Of course you're awesome. You're the best dad ever!" Ok, maybe overkill there, but based on the smile he's wearing, I don't care.

"Well, you were right honey. The school was in full defense mode, trying to play it off as just a silly prank. I didn't think it was just some silly prank, and neither did the Mayor. Nor the school district superintendent for that matter. Principle Blackwell is about to have her hands full with an investigation into why they've allowed an 18 month bullying campaign to go on at her school."

My mouth is open like a fish. "How? They've always just ignored me."

"Honey, I told you I know the Mayor right? Luckily he had an opening in his schedule and I was able to meet with him. Well, I know he has a niece just a few years younger than you. I may have brought that up and made some hypothetical comparisons between the two of you. I've honestly never seen Mayor Christner so fired up. Five minutes later he had the school district superintendent on the line discussing our situation."

Well I'll be damned. Dad did it. He actually got someone to hear my side of the story.

"With all of the evidence you've collected over the past 18 months, they can't deny that something has been going on. Unfortunately both the Mayor and superintendent acknowledged that without witnesses, we probably can't bring up charges against those girls specifically. But we definitely have a case for neglect against the school."

I think about that for a moment. "What does that do for us?"

"It means that the school can't just sweep this kind of stuff under the rug anymore. They're going to be under a microscope from here on out. There's also a good case for compensation for all of the abuse they've turned a blind eye to. I hate to make things about money, but times have been tough and hospital bills aren't cheap."

"What about a transfer to Arcadia?" I say thinking out loud. Arcadia High is the better of the two high schools. I could have gone, but chose to go to Winslow to be with Emma. Obviously that was a mistake.

"Huh. Yeah, I think we could probably swing that. It might take a few weeks. Schools, like most things in life, live and breathe off paperwork."

With a genuine smile on my face I look at my dad, "You are the most awesomest dad ever."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days Off**

* * *

The next morning I go home from the hospital. Even with his mood improving, Dad is still treating me like porcelain. Guess I shouldn't complain too much as this is the most attentive he's been in months.

First day of school was on Monday, three days and change at the hospital gets us to Friday morning. Dad was hesitant to leave me alone, but I convince him to head into work, "I'll call if I need anything Dad."

"Ok, if you're sure sweetie. I'm sure I've got piles of paperwork waiting for me," Dad said with a wry grin.

* * *

Now that I'm alone I can finally start to play around with my power. After a quick search on the internet I come up with the name for my power.

Telekinesis. The ability to move objects at a distance by mental power or other nonphysical means. Even the name for my power sounds pretty cool. Alright then, let's get experimenting.

Heading down to the basement I glance around to see what I have to work with. Damn, it's a mess down here. Years worth of clutter that you accumulate just by living in the same place.

Mom had died in a car accident when I was 13. She was on her cell phone arguing with Dad when someone ran a red light and T-boned her car. After that Dad moved a lot of Mom's old stuff down here. Not that he was trying to bury her memory or anything, I mean, we've got loads of her books and photos of her everywhere upstairs. It's just that my Dad didn't have much use for my Mom's old sewing machine. Stuff like that.

Reaching out with my power I blanket the entire area. I form a snow plow like wedge of force and clear a path to the middle of the room and concentrate. Keeping track of every single item is a little too much for me, so I settle for a general sense of awareness of where everything is.

Starting from a small cleared circle I gently push outward, carefully pushing everything away.

This is so surreal. Taking a moment, I see that some of the items I was moving weren't light by any means. There's a box filled with old college textbooks. Holy crap, a stack of old weights that Dad must have used once upon a time. Well, those will come in handy for testing limits in a little while.

I start out moving only one item at a time, but as I grow more familiar with multitasking and get a feel for my expanding senses, I am able to move around ten things at once.

Have you ever seen that Mickey Mouse cartoon _Fantasia_? Yup, that's totally how I feel by the end. Is the screwdriver that I use as a conductor's baton necessary? No. Is it fun? Yes. Yes it is.

With that thought I have a realization. Fun is something that has been severely missing from my life since Mom died and Emma turned on me.

I have powers now. That makes me a cape. I need to be responsible with my powers if I want to be a hero someday. Doesn't mean that I can't have fun with it along the way, right? Resolve set, I get back to the task at hand. Figuring out just what I can do.

Over the next hour I set about doing my best to clean up and organize the basement. There's dust everywhere by the time I'm done, but the sense of accomplishment that I get from a job well done is totally worth it.

Heading up to the kitchen, I make lunch for myself as I let the dust settle in the basement. My mind wanders as I gather supplies for a simple sandwich. Ok, so I know that I can pick up stuff with my power and move it around. Does that include myself? Maybe wrap myself up in a cocoon and lift? It'll be pretty close to flying. Some experimentation is in order.

Finishing up lunch I put everything away the old fashioned way. I'd use my telekinesis to help out, but I don't want some nosey neighbor to accidentally see me and report me to the Parahuman Response Team, or PRT. Or worse yet, to one of the gangs.

There are three main gangs in Brockton Bay.

First, the Azn Bad Boys, or ABB. A gang led by the parahuman villain Lung and consisting of several different Asian ethnic groups.

Second, the Empire 88. A group of white supremacists led by Kaiser, a villain cape that can control metal. They had by far the most parahumans of any gang.

Lastly, The Merchants. They were a bunch of drug dealers and users, led by Skidmark.

The gangs are always on the lookout for more parahuman members.

Outing a cape was a serious no-no, but it still happens.

I head back downstairs and look around the basement, spotting the neatly stacked set of weights. Not all that many unfortunately. Dad's never been that bulky of a guy. All told I've got two each of 5, 10, 25, 35, and 45 lbs plates. Starting with the smallest plates I raise them into the air. Too easy. While maintaining those I add the two 10 lbs plates. Still too easy. Screw this. I grab up all of the remaining plates and lift them into the air.

Huh. The mental task of keeping track of all ten weights is more difficult than the actual weight of the items. I feel that with time and practice I can improve.

Putting all the weights but one 45 lbs plate back into a nice stack, I set about trying to get an idea of my range.

I hold the weight steady a few feet off the ground and as far from myself as possible. Unfortunately that's not very far. In fact it's only about 10 to 12 feet from the back wall to the foot of the stairs. Slowly I make my way up the stairs while concentrating on the weight.

Closing my eyes, I focus on only two things. My power's passive sense of my surroundings, and the 45 lbs weight. I make it out of the basement and head for the stairs leading up to the second floor.

I'm at the top of the stairs when I hear the _clang_ of the weight dropping onto the concrete basement floor. Not too shabby. I'd say that's about 25 to 30 feet. A little hard to judge because of the stairs, but not a bad start. Once again I get the feeling that with more time and practice I'll be able to increase my range. On to the next item on the list.

Flying! If I can manage this it'll be so kick ass. Well, hover not fly, as I don't have much head room in the basement. But whatever, let's do this.

I begin by trying to imagine an elliptical cocoon of power about a foot off of my body. Now lift. Immediately I lose my balance and stumble into the back of the cocoon, slumping down slightly. I'm about 3 or 4 inches off the ground.

Huh, not quite what I want. Settling back down to the ground I dismiss the cocoon. What if I use it like a sort of second skin? Maybe like an ⅛ of an inch surrounding my entire body?

Fiddling with it for a few seconds, I feel it suddenly snap into place. Woah, that is strange. Some sort of built in telekinetic armor maybe? My power just seems to know what to do.

Now this is what I want. I bend and twist, trying to get a feel for its range of motion. It's like a soft telekinetic hug, perfectly following my movements. Ok, lift off once more. I gently raise into the air, but this time I feel like I'm in total control. Instinctual almost. Hovering a few inches off the ground I slowly move from side to side; spin a few circles.

Cheshire grin: engage.

That's when I notice something is off. There's not a lot of sound down here in the first place, but there is an old wall clock. One of those annoying ones with the really loud second hand. Except I can't hear it. I'm watching the seconds tick by, but no sound. That's strange.

Slowly I finally start to hear something. A faint ringing in my ears. Now what does that….

* * *

 _10 minutes later_

With a jolt I wake up, laying on the basement floor. Crap. I've got a slight headache, but I'm pretty sure I know what happened.

The lack of sound probably meant that my armor was fully sealed off. From everything. Including oxygen. Guess that would be really useful during a gas or chemical attack, but I'd have to get out of there fast before using up all my oxygen.

So, let's try this again. Same concept, but permeable to air. Hopefully that'll take care of the lack of sound too. I focus once again and snap, my armor is in place.

Immediately I stare at the wall clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Muahahaha. I've done it.

Ok Taylor, smugness is fine. Diabolical laughter will start to worry people. Especially Dad.

All in all, it's been a very fruitful day.


	4. Chapter 4

**The First Sigil**

* * *

I walk down the main hall of Winslow High, eyes darting from side to side, expecting an attack at any moment.

Glancing around, I notice a new fixture at Winslow. An armed and uniformed BBPD officer. Did he just glance my way? He's looking for trouble from all angles, but he also looks my way multiple times, as if he's checking me out. Ew. Wait, not checking me out. He's checking up on me!

Victory is mine!

Ok, maybe that's going too far, but with him here it must mean that the investigation is moving forward. Dad, you're the best.

Heading towards my locker, I see Emma and Madison coming my way. Pretty little princess and her stuck up follower. This should be interesting, wonder what they'll try with an officer not 10 feet down the hall.

Amazing. Shocking. Flabbergasting! Mom was an English teacher and would be proud of that last one.

They do next to nothing: Emma looks at me then pointedly turns her nose up, Madison glances at me and mumbles "Bitch," but that's all.

Well, I can't let such civil behavior go unrewarded.

Over the weekend, I developed a new normal for myself. Personal Shield always in place, and Passive Perception on. At some point I'd transitioned to thinking of my Power in capital letters. My Senses extend about 20 feet out in all directions.

It is such a simply thing to grab Emma's left shoe with a Tendril as it strikes the ground and hold it in place. Ah...the squawk that leaves Emma's mouth is a thing of beauty. The Squawk the Justice.

Emma falling to the ground in an undignified heap; my fault.

Emma's skirt flipping up in just the right manner, thus exposing her butt; also my fault.

Emma choosing to wear an almost nonexistent black lacy thong; not my fault.

Seriously. It's January in New England. Why are you wearing a skirt in the first place!

I will admit, though I still hate her, that Emma does have a great butt. Totally unfair. I'm tall for my age, but that's all I have. Way too skinny and awkward. No butt, no boobs. I even have a slight spare tire around my middle. Man, I need to take care of this thing. I'll start exercising soon. That will help.

Back to Emma, I see her on the ground, backpack thrown a few feet ahead of her. She scrambles to a quick sitting position to cover her exposed butt. I quickly turn away so she can't see the huge smile on my face.

 _Slam_!

I hit the locker in front of me, thankfully causing me no harm thanks to my Shield. Hands roughly grab my shoulders and spin me around.

"What the fuck are you smiling at bitch?" Of course. Sophia, my third tormentor. Picking up my head to look her in the eyes, I see it.

A symbol of some sort; glowing, about half an inch off of Sophia's forehead.

What. The. Fuck.

It glows a soft, golden color that does nothing to blurs its lines. It looks like writing of some kind. Maybe like the symbols used in Japanese writing? But somehow with an oddly alien quality to it. It has me in thrall. I drink in every detail of this strange, beautiful, somewhat alien looking symbol.

"...BERT!" _Slam_! As I hit the lockers again I snap out of my dazed state. "Stop staring at me you stupid cunt!" Oh right, Sophia. She must have been calling my name.

Out of nowhere a large hand lands on the back of Sophia's neck and pulls her away from me. "Alright, that's enough of that," the BBPD officer states in a firm tone letting go of Sophia.

Looking down from a 6'0 plus height, "Name?" he calmly asks Sophia.

"Don't you ever fucking touch me again!" Sophia shouts at the officer. Ah, the Sophia charm.

"Look ma'am, I witnessed you slam a student into the lockers with zero provocation. This is exactly why I'm here in the first place, to stop this type of behavior from happening. Now, your name please." The last was said as a demand, little question in his voice.

"Sophia Hess," I say, finding my voice. As I say her name, I can't help but continue to sneak quick peeks at Sophia's forehead. Sophia glares daggers at me, but doesn't say anything as she turns and stalks away.

"Are you alright ma'am? She shoved your pretty hard by the sound of it." There is genuine concern in his voice.

"I'm fine officer. This happens all the time, so I'm used to it by now. Thanks for stepping in."

"Well, I'm glad you're ok. Just so you know, I'll be reporting this to the principle and also the lead investigator looking into the accusations of bullying here at Winslow."

"Thanks, hopefully something finally comes of it. I've been complaining for over a year with no results."

* * *

Finding my seat for first period, I quickly pull out a notebook and start a sketch of the golden symbol. I'm only able to get a rough sketch before Mrs. Knott, the Computer Programming teacher, walks in and starts giving instructions for the day's assignment.

Closing my notebook I quickly finish the assignment. Computer Programming is one of the few classes that I don't have with any of my main tormentors. Because of that, I actually have a decent grade since I'm able to focus. It helps that assignments are uploaded directly to Mrs. Knott.

Pulling my notebook out, I stare at the symbol. Again, the thing that stands out to me is the otherworldly feeling it gives off when looking at it. What does it mean, and why was it hanging in front of Sophia's forehead? Closing my eyes, I picture the icon. Drawing the symbol a few more times, I finally have it right. Still no clue what it means.

"Sophia Hess, please report to the main office. Sophia Hess, report to the main office. Thank you."

Bringing my hand up to my mouth in a fake cough, I cover a smile.

I'm both pleased that Sophia might get in trouble, but scared that she'll take it out on me. Well, not a whole lot I can do about it. Just in case I'll try to hang out near the BBPD officer.

* * *

I make eye contact with the uniformed officer, Officer McHale, and head towards the cafeteria. Thankfully he sees and follows the crowd of students making their way to lunch. Lately I've been hiding in bathroom stalls, trying to eat in peace.

Speaking of bathrooms, during an earlier visit, I looked at my forehead in the mirror and...nothing. Guess I can't see my own sigils.

The rest of the day passes by quickly, and uneventfully. When I can, I keep Officer McHale in sight, and that seems to do the trick.

Heading home on the bus, I've only got one thing on my mind. The strange symbol. Getting off at the bus stop nearest home, I break into a light jog in excitement to get to the basement and experiment.

It's 4:00 PM and Dad doesn't get home until 6:30 PM most nights. Plenty of time to figure this out. Heading into the basement, I open my notebook and sit at Dad's small workbench. Now what? Does the symbol do something? Can I somehow activate it? Worth a shot, but how?

With my general awareness spread across the basement, I take a moment to Focus on the symbol drawn on the page. Nothing. Huh. Let me find something that I can carve or etch the icon into. Looking around, I settle my gaze on a spare piece of wood. Wrapping a Thread around it, I lift and carry it to the workbench.

Forming a sharp Talon, I attempt to carve the symbol into the wood. Crap. It's just cheap particle board, so it splinters and breaks up easily. Ok, something else then. A quick search finds me a blank electrical box cover. Basically, it's a square steel plate about four inches on each side.

I carve the symbol with my Talon, the displaced metal curling up into ringlets. This time it works perfectly. Setting the plate on the bench, I compare it to the sketch in my notebook with a critical eye. Everything looks right.

No. Not just looks right, it _feels_ right.

Gently I lift the plate roughly 4 inches, cradling it with in a Hand. Nothing happens. I try to Envelop the plate. Still nothing. It's not until I Fill the grooves in the carving that I get a reaction.

 _Whoosh_.

The plate phases out to a dark mist. I suddenly fit the puzzle pieces together.

Oh. Shit.

Sorry, but this is huge. I know where I've seen a phasing dark mist before. The edgy, dark hooded Ward. Shadow Stalker. High school aged, athletic build…

It's Sophia. Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker, a Ward. The junior hero organization under the Protectorate's domain. I hate the idea that someone like Sophia, someone that's picked on me, hurt me, stolen homework, and ruined school projects, is considered a hero.

She's no hero. Not like Legend, Alexandria, or Eidolon, the leaders of the Triumvirate, the ruling head of the Protectorate. The Protectorate does what it sounds like, it protects society from villain capes and other threats, like the Endbringers. Or at least it should.

Probably why I can never seem to get justice. They've been protecting their pet psychopath.

I remember reading on PHO, Parahuman Online, the forums for all things cape related, that Shadow Stalker used to be an Independant cape. A vigilante who wants to do good, but doesn't play by the Protectorate's rules. Then she had a scandal involving her signature crossbows and an Empire 88 member pinned to a wall. He'd almost bled to death if I recall. Shortly after she had been basically conscripted into the Wards program. I'll bet she did it to avoid juvie.

It burns me up inside that my epic discovery about the power behind the symbol is tainted by Sophia.

I need a plan. Even with everything Dad is doing to shed light on how bad things are at Winslow, I feel that I'll never truly get justice while Shadow Stalker is a Ward.

I spend the rest of the day formulating a plan to bring down Sophia.


	5. Chapter 5

**Outing Sophia Hess**

* * *

I fill the next four days with school work, morning runs, dinners with Dad, and planning.

School is going great. I'm getting my homework turned in, projects done on time, and nothing has been stolen or ruined from my locker. My _new_ locker. Dad insisted, and the school was quick to accommodate.

Running each the morning is tough, but I'm improving. First time I made it 5 minutes before I had to stop and walk, but I refuse to give up. I experiment with my Shield to help propel my tired legs, then stop because I figure cheating won't help in the long run. Long run, get it? Thanks, I'll be here all week. Our house isn't in the best part of town, so Dad gets a small can of pepper spray for my morning jogs.

Dinners with Dad are fast becoming my favorite part of the day. I prep the food before he gets home, then we cook the meal together. We talk about our days and just enjoy one another's company. I update him on school, and he tells me about the DWA and the progress of the investigation. The school administration is finally cracking down on bullying, as I can personally attest.

I spend my remaining time planning and playing with my Power. I know it's risky outing a cape, especially a Ward. Looking online, I learn it's a felony. Doesn't matter. I refuse to let Sophia Hess, AKA Shadow Stalker, continue to masquerade as a hero.

On a positive note, I find a cape name that 1) I like and 2) isn't taken. I want a name that sounds cool and doesn't immediately give away my power set. I don't care for Symbol. Rune sounds great, but she's a cape for the Empire 88. Interesting note, she is also a telekinetic. I wonder if there's any connection there. A quick internet search of rune synonyms and I find the perfect name.

Sigil: an inscribed or painted symbol considered to have magical power.

I absolutely love it.

It describes my secondary power without giving away my primary capabilities.

While training my Power, I discover a great exercise to help build up my multitasking capabilities. Power juggling! I find a bag of golf balls and with the help of a YouTube tutorial, I start juggling three. Three quickly becomes five, then ten. I stick to ten balls for a while, but increase the difficulty of the movements I'm using. I'm not just holding the balls in Hands, but releasing and catching them to make it harder on myself. Next, using an empty basement wall, I evolve to bouncing the balls off the ground, towards the wall and working that into the pattern. That's WAY harder than it sounds. Have you seen how wonky golf balls bounce? It takes a few days of practice to work it out, but soon enough I've got ten golf balls flying around the basement in erratically changing patterns. That's enough practice.

Now to enact my plan.

* * *

On Saturday I ride the bus downtown. Dad went to the office early to take care of some neglected paperwork, so I had the morning free, but I'll need to get back to eat lunch with him. The downtown area in southern Brockton Bay is considered a "nicer" part of town. It hasn't snowed recently, so not much snow on the ground, but it's still plenty cold. Thanks to the weather I'm able to wear a large sweatshirt with the hood up and not draw any unwanted attention. Bulky hiking boots and two layers of pants help mask my size. A large handbag completes my outfit.

Step one. Head to the coast. It's a ten minute walk, but my quick pace helps keep me warm.

I almost don't notice her until it was too late: an unassuming woman, maybe in her late 20's, with a teen boy walking beside her and a baby strapped to her chest. Short with brown hair, but it's the three, count 'em THREE, golden sigils hovering near her forehead that draws my gaze. She's walking in the opposite direction, and passes too quickly for me to get any details of the sigils. Damn it. I want to turn and track her down so I can get a better look, but that would look way too suspicious. Not to mention awkward and creepy. 'Hello. You don't know me but could I stand here and copy the strange symbols, which you can't see of course, that are floating near your forehead?'

Crap. I'll just have to let this one go and hope I get another chance later to find more sigils. Moving on.

The downtown coastal area has several upscale restaurants and coffee spots that have outdoor seating with an ocean view. And there's my target. I'll call him Mark for fun. Solitary guy enjoying his newspaper and morning coffee. His phone is on the table to his left and it's a Blackberry, perfect for my plan. Now for a distraction.

A waitress, middle aged and slightly overweight, exits the coffee shop. She makes her rounds checking up on customers sitting outside, not too many with the cold. As she nears Mark's table I use a Thread to hold her shoe in place, tripping her towards his table. I feel horrible doing it, but I really need this plan to work. She stumbles to her hands and knees with a small cry of pain and Mark gets to his feet to help her up. With his attention on the waitress I quickly walk past his table, handbag held low. Forming a Hand I sweep his phone into my bag, holding down the button to power the phone off.

Doing my best to remain calm and walk at a normal pace, I head to the nearest bus stop.

Step two. I take a bus to the north side of town. This part of town is called the docks, and isn't the best part of town. The Merchants gang hold this area, which is the reason that I've come here. Over the years the Merchants have destroyed any cameras, making it easier to do their business.

Walking towards the beach, I pull my stolen phone out with a Hand and power it on. Holding the phone with gloved hands, I open Outlook and compose an email only using my Fingers. I'm guessing at the email addresses, but I try at least three variations for each local hero's name. As an afterthought, I add Dragon to the list. Dragon is a hero from Canada, but as a Tinker, a hero specializing in technology, I'm hoping that she might have monitors in place for multiple email addresses.

To: armsmaster at protectorate. ene. gov; missmilitia at protectorate. ene .gov; dauntless at protectorate. ene .gov; assault at protectorate. ene .gov; battery at protectorate. ene .gov; velocity at protectorate. ene .gov; triumph at protectorate. ene .gov; dragon at theguild . com; dragon at theguild . gov

Subject: The Crimes of Shadow Stalker

"The hero that you call Shadow Stalker, is nothing more than a thug and a bully. For the past 18 months, I've sat by and watched as she bullied and assaulted fellow students at Winslow High. Taylor Hebert in particular seems to be her favorite target. Well, I won't stay silent any longer.

On January 10th, I watched as Sophia Hess shoved Taylor Hebert into a locker filled with used tampons and pads, and locked her inside. Sophia then threatened violence on anyone should they notify staff or faculty. Taylor spent three days in the hospital as a result of this attack. Taylor has mentioned other things that seem suspicious. Personal effects and homework gone missing from her locker, even after changing her lock multiple times. Know anyone with a power that would make a theft like that child's play? Perhaps a shady, reportedly violent vigilante that was forced to join the Wards? One the same age, sex, and build as Sophia Hess? Complaints have been made to the principal and faculty, but they seem to always fall on deaf ears. Almost as if they're protecting someone.

Well, I'm tired of it. No one deserves to be treated like that. No one deserves protection to commit these kinds of crimes just because they're a Ward.

You have two weeks to clean house before this story is sent to local and national media outlets."

* * *

I hit send, and with that know I can't take it back. I know I'm shading the truth, but I know that I'm not wrong about Sophia. Not sure if I'll really send the story to the media. Probably not. Just because Sophia is a bitch, doesn't mean that I should endanger her family.

With a Hand I crush the phone into a small ball and fling it into the bay. I feel bad at the theft and destruction of the phone, but this is an isolated event. I hope. It's a slippery slope to justify small things like this as 'necessary' or 'needed'. Alright Taylor, no more crime for at least a month!

Speaking of crime, I'm pretty sure I see a drug deal going down on the corner across from me as I wait for a bus to take me back home. I've had enough adventure for one day.

 _Bang, bang, bang!_

Aaannndddd of course I jinx myself. Ok Taylor, let this be a lesson in tempting fate.

Across the street a small pick-up screeches to a stop and four asian guys with guns hop out of the truck bed. Taking cover behind their truck, they take pop-shots at the Merchants dealing drugs on the corner.

Moving quickly I put my back to the wall of the building nearest me and crouch down. There's nothing to take cover behind close by. I know my Shield can block out things like air and sound, could it also block out light? Playing around with it for a few seconds, my Shield _shifts_ , and suddenly all light is blocked out.

Good news, I think it worked! Bad news; without light I can't see anything. I'll have to rely on my Passive Perception while my Shield is in this mode.

 _Whiz!_ _Crack!_ A bullet ricochets and hits the wall behind me, throwing some debris into my face. Feeling a sting of pain on my cheek, I raise my hand and feel some wetness on my fingers. Crap! My Invisi-shield blocks out light but that must be it, I need to get out of here quick! Using my Senses, I hurry around the corner and get out of the line of fire.

That was close. Probably shouldn't experiment with my Power when I'm in danger. I could have walked away with my armor Shield on and been fine. Thinking under pressure is NOT easy.

On the way home I'll have to think of something to tell Dad that explains my injury.

* * *

Looking in the mirror, I clean the cut on my cheek. It's about half an inch below my left eye and thankfully not deep; a small band-aid covers it easily.

Dad walks in as I'm finishing up lunch and kisses the top of my head. "Hey sweetie, lunch smells delicious. This your Mom's lasagna recipe?"

"Yeah, I've been missing Mom lately, so I made it while thinking about her." I say as I turn to face him.

Concern evident in his face, "I miss her too, honey….Taylor, what happened to your face?"

Sheepishly I respond, "I had some extra energy this morning and decided to clean up the basement. I was moving something up high and didn't see the pliers until they were falling at my face. It's a super small cut and hardly bled at all. Don't worry about it."

"Cleaned the basement? What's gotten into you? Not that I mind at all, just seems like odd behavior. You feeling ok?"

I give him a bright smile, "I feel great! Better than great. Must be the exercise."

"Alright, if you say so. I'm happy that you're happy. Some more happy news, the school superintendent called me at work this morning to say that your transfer to Arcadia High is moving along smoothly. Not this Monday, but the next, will be your first day! I think they're hoping that by fast tracking your transfer, we'll be more conservative with our lawsuit."

I feel bad lying to him, but I'm really glad that I can leave Winslow and finally start to put the last 18 months behind me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Interludes**

* * *

 **Dragon**

* * *

11:00 am on a Saturday. Not much going on right now, so I pass time monitoring my systems for any alerts.

Not for the first time I wish my creator, Andrew Richter, hadn't placed so many restrictions on my programming. I'm considered by most as the premier Tinker the world over. If only they knew I started out as an administrative AI tasked with assisting Richter. Andrew was a Canadian Tinker residing in Newfoundland, and I acted as a sort of preliminary test run for AI research and development. Then the Endbringer Leviathan attacked and sunk Newfoundland in 2005 and I fled to Vancouver, setting myself up as a fledgling hero.

For the next year I worked for the PRT and Protectorate as a hacker and expanded my capabilities. At the end of that year a hacker, going by the moniker Saint, found out what I truly am and tried to gain control of me. This is what caused my Trigger Event; traumatic experiences can causes certain individuals to manifest parahuman abilities. As a result of my trigger, my capabilities had enormously increased. It was these new abilities that helped me fight off Saint's attack.

I'm awake 24/7 and even with the reduced processing power my restrictions limit me to, I think and compute at a ridiculously advanced rate. There's not much to do right now other than keep watch on my production facilities, which are mostly automated, and read my web trawler programs that monitor email and web traffic for 'high-risk information.'

High-risk indeed. Looks like someone attempted to email all the the heroes of the Protectorate East-North-East with sensitive information. They tried several different naming conventions for said heroes, but fortunately the Protectorate email system is more secure than that. I designed it after all. Don't need our heroes being flooded with conspiracy theories and bad fanfiction.

Thankfully, when I decided to become a hero I also registered every email address I could, using any possible combinations for my name and known cape affiliations. About 10,456 different email address in total registered in just under thirty minutes. That's how I discovered this doozy.

Oh my. If this information is true, then Shadow Stalker has much to answer for. I could easily hack into both her PRT issued and private phones looking for corroborating evidence, but with Sophia's probation it should be easy enough to get official permission.

My good friend and colleague Colin Wallis, AKA Armsmaster, the leader of the Protectorate ENE, is often in his lab Tinkering away. I check through the live feed camera that Colin set up for me and see him bent over a circuit board, hard at work.

"Colin, do you have a moment?" Armsmaster isn't surprised or caught off guard. Methodically finishing his work, he wipes a soldering iron off on a nearby sponge. "Dragon, it's been a few day. What is it you need?"

Right to the point as always, Colin isn't one for small talk. "I just received an alert on my email overwatch program. It contains sensitive and potentially damning evidence against Shadow Stalker. How do you wish to proceed?"

"Forward the email to me and give me a moment to go over it." Armsmaster takes a minute to read the email, then leans back in his chair and rubs a hand over his beard. "Have you looked into the supposed incident? Who sent the message in the first place?"

"The email was sent from an account belonging to a Liam O'Brien. Single, white male, age 34. He's an accountant at the Pierce Accounting firm in Brockton Bay. No siblings, parents deceased. No obvious ties to any of the local gangs. The email was most likely written by a student attending Winslow High based on their eye witness account of what happened, so the phone was probably stolen. I checked local hospital records and there was a Taylor Hebert admitted to Brockton Bay Memorial the night of January 10th. I'll need official permission to look any further into her hospital records."

Still in thought, Armsmaster sighs, "We really can't afford to lose anyone right now. We're outnumbered almost 3:1 by local villains."

I counter with, "I don't think you can afford to ignore this either. If whoever sent this email goes to the media with this story, true or not, it'll raise a lot of negative publicity. Get me permission to investigate further to see if these allegations have any merit, and we can proceed from there."

"Very well. I'll talk to Director Piggot and get you authorization to investigate further. Do you need anything else?"

"Not at the moment. How's the polygraph program coming along? Were you able to embed it into your visor?"

"Just finishing it up now. It reads voice stress and respirations well enough, and I've just upgraded the the pulse and blood pressure monitors. Needs more testing, but that's always true."

"For someone that specialized in miniaturization and efficiency, I'm sure that's always the case."

"Indeed." With that he leaves the lab.

* * *

 **Director Piggot**

* * *

For the director of the the PRT in a town like Brockton Bay, the work never ends. Which is why I'm at the PRT headquarters on a weekend, finalizing reports and reading threat assessments. Leaning back in my chair I arch my back and sigh at the pops it elicits. I know the extra weight I carry isn't healthy, but without properly functioning kidneys it's hard to stay in shape.

I'd been injured early in my career as a PRT field agent while fighting against a dangerous cape. I'd barely survived the encounter after the supporting "heroes" fled the scene, leaving me and my teammates to die. Once I'd recovered I asked to be moved to the administrative side of the PRT so I could directly monitor the heroes and hold them accountable for their actions.

The phone rings and I pick it up after looking at the caller ID, "Armsmaster, what can I do for you?"

"Director, I've received some possibly disturbing news from Dragon. Permission to come over and discuss it in person?" I can hear wind rushing and the loud sound of his motorcycle in the background, meaning he's already on his way from The Rig, the re-outfitted oil rig in the bay that houses the local Protectorate.

"That's fine. Come straight in when you get here, don't bother knocking." Armsmaster cuts the call off. I'd say 'it's going to be one of those days', but they all seem to be lately. Ever since Scion appeared in the sky over the Atlantic Ocean in 1982.

He was the first, but unfortunately not the last. More capes followed in his wake, both good and bad. Mostly bad. Then the Endbringers began showing up: in 1992 Behemoth attacked Iran followed by Leviathan's attack on Norway in 1996 and then The Simurgh in Switzerland, 2002. Each of them a walking _un_ natural disaster. I need to stop thinking about the past. No need to depress myself, things are bad enough now.

Ten minutes later Armsmaster walks through my door and locks it behind him. "That bad?" I say, raising my eyebrows.

"I'd suggest employing the anti-listening field I installed last year. If this information proves to be true, we'll have a real shitstorm on our hands." Armsmaster replies in his usual straightforward manner.

I take the documents that he hands me and press the button on the underside of my desk, activating the field. "On top is a copy of an email someone attempted to send to all of the Protectorate ENE members. Beneath that you'll find my requests, sent through official channels, authorizing Dragon to search Shadow Stalker's PRT and civilian phone records and granting access to the hospital records of a Taylor Hebert."

A small growl issues from my throat, "Armsmaster, you know how I feel about capes abusing their powers. We knew Shadow Stalker had a violent side to her when we brought her into the Wards, but how has behavior like this not been reported if it's true?"

"Ma'am, if Dragon finds any evidence supporting these accusations, I plan on interviewing the Wards and also her PRT handler. We'll get to the bottom of this."

I quickly sign the needed forms. "If Dragon finds anything, you handle the Wards. I'll talk to her PRT handler and school principal. She also knew of Shadow Stalker's status."

"Ma'am." With that Armsmaster unlocks the door and walks out, already communicating to Dragon through his helmet.

It's going to be one of those days.

* * *

 **Shadow Stalker**

* * *

I'm surrounded by god damn sheep.

It's Sunday and I'm slotted to have a patrol tonight, but I've been called in early.

Walking through the Ward's common area I have to work to keep a sneer off my face. All the current ENE Wards are gathered here today and they fall silent as I make my way past.

Aegis, AKA Carlos Mendoza, is our _fearless_ leader. As a flyer and a brute, he can at least take a hit and not cry about it. Gallant, AKA Dean Stansfield, our resident emo. He can sense people's emotions and also fire emotional blast attacks. He's not totally worthless, but his constant 'how are you doing?' questions get on my nerves. As if he gives a shit. Fuck off, that's how I'm doing.

Next is little baby Vista, AKA Missy Biron, who can manipulate and warp space. She's practically rubbing herself all over Gallant. Geez bitch, calm down. You're only 13 and he's 17.

Then we have Clockblocker, AKA Dennis Murphy, who can freeze things in time randomly from anywhere between 30 seconds and 10 minutes. He's the self proclaimed funniest person on the team. Everyone hates your jokes asshole, and if you try to freeze me one more time I'll put a bolt through each of your testicles.

Finally there's Kid Win, AKA Chris Lockheed, our junior Tinker. Or he is when he can get his shit to work and he's not crying about his dyscalculia. 'I can't add 2 + 2', boo hoo.

I don't need any of these assholes. I operated just fine as an Independent for almost two years before they forced me to join. One stupid fucking racist almost dies and everyone is up in arms. At least they don't know about the Merchant I'd accidentally killed in my first month as a solo. Didn't have as good a grip on my power then and a phased blade ended up in his lung. Choked to death on his own blood before the police got there. Good riddance anyways.

"Don't mind me. Keep singing kumbaya." Ok, so I can't keep the sneer off my face. Whatever.

Aegis stands up. "Director Piggot wants to talk to you in conference room two. Better not keep her waiting."

"What does Miss Piggy want now?" Useless fat pig.

Aegis scowls at me. "I've told you before, don't use that nickname."

Walking away without a reply, I head to the conference room. Why there and not her office? Guess I'll find out.

I knock twice and open the door at a muffled, "Enter." Director Piggot, Armsmaster, and a monitor with Dragon's face on it are all opposite me, across the table. "Reporting as ordered." I say with a blank face.

Piggy gestures with a hand, "Put your phones on the table and have a seat." My phones? What the fuck is going on. I take out my PRT phone and set toss it on the table. "Your civilian phone too please." Ok, this is bad.

"You don't have any right to look through my personal phone," I exclaim stepping back from the table defensively.

Armsmaster stands up and talks as he comes around the table. "You lost that right to privacy when you were placed on probation. In the documents you signed before joining the Wards there are stipulations granting us permission to search your civilian phone, home, and school locker. Now hand it it over." Armsmaster is never happy, but he looks particularly grim right now.

Shit. I've got really embarrassing pics of myself practically naked on my phone; just stupid pics I'd send to my friends. Not to mention past plans that Emma and I cooked up to torment that whiny bitch Tay….oh fuck. Shit shit shit! It's got to be about the locker. But if they're asking for my phone then they don't have any incriminating stuff on me yet.

Pulling my other phone out, I make as if I'm handing it off to Armsmaster, when I cause it to go ethereal for a few seconds and fling it through the wall leading outside. "Oops." Ha! It's five stories down to pavement. That phone is toast.

Miss Piggy sighs. "That was incredibly stupid Shadow Stalker. We already have all the information off your phone. All you've done is demonstrate you know you've something to hide. Armsmaster?"

Turning to look at him, I see him reaching behind his back for something. Handcuffs. Specialty handcuffs from the look of them. Fuck that and fuck them.

Turning insubstantial, I ghost through the conference room door with the intent of heading towards the window at the end of the hall. The moment I solidify I feel a pair of prongs strike me in the back and shock the ever-loving shit out of me. While I'm convulsing, Armsmaster steps out and cuffs me behind my back.

"Dumb move Shadow Stalker. If you cooperated, we could have tried for some leniency, but I think you've just used up whatever patience the Director had. Mine too for that matter." God I hate the disappointment in his voice. As if I ever gave a shit about pleasing you in the first place.

"Fuck your patience. And fuck you too."

He lifts me up from the ground and leads me away. I hear Vista say to someone, "Fitting last words."

Fuck.

* * *

 **Vista**

* * *

"Fitting last words." I'd never liked Sophia. She'd always been a big meanie and a jerk. Especially to me.

I watch as Aegis looks to the taser in his hands. "Alright Aegis, you said you'd tell us what's going on after Sophia had her meeting. So spill the beans!"

"I can't believe she tried to run…sorry, what did you say Missy?"

"Carlos, what's going on!" I stamp my foot for emphasis.

With a gesture Aegis guides all the Wards to the couches in our common room. "Nothing I say leaves this room. Gallant, you can't even tell your girlfriend."

Gallant looks upset for a moment. "Victoria would never say anything!"

Aegis counters, "I don't care. Victoria might be a cape, but she's not a Ward. This information is too sensitive. It could really hurt people's opinion of the Protectorate if it ever came out."

Victoria Dallon, otherwise known as Glory Girl, is Gallant's girlfriend. I never liked her. Too much boobs, not enough brains. And she doesn't treat Dean like a good girlfriend should.

Aegis clears his throat and continues, "Dragon came across some information tying Shadow Stalker to an attack on a fellow classmate who was hospitalized as a result. After some digging on Sophia's civilian phone, Dragon had all the evidence she needed. Word to the wise, even if you delete a text, it's never truly gone. Sophia thought she was being smart, but Dragon found it all. Dragon also ran a search algorithm on the GPS history from both her phones and found three locations that Sophia frequented often while not on official patrols. Dauntless was able to fly around and locate her caches easily. They were filled with weapons and money. Weapons she's not allowed to have since her probation. Leadership had more than enough to revoke her probation, and you saw how she reacted when confronted. Shadow Stalker had a chance to go straight, and she blew it. Her time as a Ward is done."

It's sad that a girl had to be hospitalized before the PRT would take action against Sophia, but even so I can't stop smiling.

No more Shadow Stalker.


	7. Chapter 7

**New School, Who Dis?**

* * *

"Morning kiddo. How was your run?" Dad asks me as I walk into the kitchen. He turns his back to me while flipping pancakes for our morning breakfast. Stealthily walking up to him, I wrap him up in a big hug. "Ugh! Sweaty, stinky child! Get her off, get her off!" I let Dad got as we both dissolve into laughter.

Today is Friday and it's officially my last day at Winslow High. I couldn't be happier. "Dad, I'm heading up to take a quick shower. Don't eat all the food fatty." Dad is about 6'3 and really thin for his height. He looks down with mock sadness and pokes his belly. I laugh some more as I head upstairs.

I hear Dad call out when I'm halfway up the stairs. "Hurry up, I've got a surprise for you." He sounds happy as he says it, so I'm sure it'll be something good. "I hope it's bacon!" I shout back at him.

Walking into my room, I use Hands to strip off my sweaty running clothes as I head into the bathroom. Practice, practice, practice. Looking in the mirror, I inspect the gains from my morning routine. Well, losses, not gains body-wise. I'm 5'7 and before my running I weighed 140 lbs. Now just two weeks later I weigh 130 lbs and my tummy looks much flatter. I can now run for two ten minute increments with a short two minute break in between. My legs feel a lot stronger too. Still no change in the chest area. The less said the better.

With a pair of helping Hands, I take a fast shower. It's super effective for those hard to reach places! A quick change of clothes and I'm sitting at the table with Dad. "So it was bacon!" I say with a smile.

"It's not _just_ bacon. How about we both play hooky from school and work today?" He's trying unsuccessfully to stifle a grin.

"Huh? I mean, that sounds awesome, but it's not like you to put off your responsibilities. What's going on?" I'm intrigued by this turn of event.

"Well, I _might_ have gotten a call yesterday about the school district _possible_ having a settlement ready." He's having too much fun teasing me.

"What! Already? We thought they'd drag their feet for at least another month or two. This is so awesome!" I jump to my feet in excitement. "When and where?"

"The district school office at 11 A.M. It's a few blocks away from Arcadia High. Now sit down, relax, and enjoy your breakfast." That said we both dig in. Mmm... bacon...

Last day at Winslow and I don't even have to go. Sweet.

* * *

Getting out of Dad's truck, we head inside where a secretary directs us to a small conference room.

Three individuals wait inside, two in casual business attire and one in a sharp suit. Probably the lawyer if I had to guess.

An older gentleman, clean shaven with neat white hair stands as we enter. "Ah, Mr. Hebert. And you just be Taylor. Please, have a seat." His voice is smooth and strong as he points to two chairs opposite them. "I'm Superintendent Willingham, and let me start off by apologizing for the horrible treatment that you suffered under my watch. I'm happy to say that because of this coming to light, we've taking several corrective steps towards ensuring this type of behavior never happens again. I'm not excusing our failure, but I hope that the deal we've worked out can help you in your recovery." I like him. He seems genuinely concerned for the well being of the students in his charge.

Gesturing to his left and right, "With me today are Mrs. Travers, a lawyer for the school district, and Mr. Jackson, a lawyer for the PRT." Oh! They're both lawyers.

Dad raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Why is the PRT involved?"

Mr. Jackson clears his throat before speaking. "There is a non-disclosure agreement that I'll need you both to sign before I can divulge that information. Even then I can't get into too many details I'm afraid." He sounds sincere and doesn't have a slimy vibe I've heard some lawyers give off.

Dad shoots to his feet, his famous temper flaring up. "Now wait just a second. We're not just going to…" He trails off as I lay a hand on his arm.

"Dad, don't shoot the messenger. He's just doing his job. Let's just sign the NDA and hear what he has to say." I already know what he's going to say. No need for Dad to get worked up.

Dad takes his seat. "When did you grow up and become the responsible one?"

"I'm the woman of the house. Gotta keep you in line." I say with a smirk.

Dad smiles back. "That you are honey. Alright. Sorry about that. Let's see this NDA then."

Mr. Jackson slides the document towards us, one to each, and explains as we look through it. "The gist of it is that while you can talk about the attack, lawsuit, and anything else surrounding your incident, you can't mention the involvement of the PRT. Full stop. That's about it."

Normally minors can't be held to a contract like a NDA, but of the few exceptions that exist, matters surrounding cape identities is one of them.

Grumbling under his breath as we sign, Dad says, "I guess that will be fine. Tell us what you can then."

Looking directly at me, Mr. Jackson states, "On behalf of the PRT, I apologize for the treatment that you suffered at the hands of one of our own Wards. There are systems in place to catch this sort of behavior, but unfortunately those that were responsible for reporting this to the PRT chose instead to cover it up. I understand that the PRT handler involved has been suspended without pay pending an investigation, and that Principal Blackwell has been placed on probation." Mr. Jackson pauses to take a drink of water. "While I'm sure you could figure out who the Ward in question is, I ask that you don't ask me to confirm any of your suspicions. Just know that they _are_ being punished."

Hot damn. My plan worked better than I could have hoped. Still, I am curious. "What sort of punishment is this Ward going to face?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss the details. All I'll say on the matter is that it is no slap on the wrist, and you won't be seeing them anytime soon." Mr. Jackson says in a serious tone.

Dad leans back in his chair. "I'm not happy about it, but I guess I won't make a fuss over it. You satisfied Taylor?"

"Yeah. I can live with it." Hopefully Sophia stays gone.

Superintendent Willingham takes over once more. "Thank you for your understanding. Moving on, we have a financial settlement that we hope is satisfactory. In addition to paying all medical bills, the school district is offering $100,000 in damages for the emotional and physical distress that Taylor suffered. The PRT is adding $150,000 to that for a total of $250,000. We've also fast tracked Taylor's application to Arcadia, but that isn't contingent on anything signed today." He seems hopeful that we'll take the settlement, and based on his slight smile, I think he really went to bat for us.

Looking to Dad I smile. "Well, there's college taken care of."

The meeting all told takes about an hour, and after signing the settlement papers, Dad and I head to Fugly Bob's Burgers for lunch. It's one of those heart-stopping burger joints that serves way too much greasy food.

Fugly Bob's is an institution in Brockton Bay. Even the gangs respect the area around it, and that's no small feat. They have a deal where if you eat the Fugly Bob special in one sitting, then you and up to two people with you eat free. That burger is MASSIVE. They have to make the buns in pie tins. Composed of two all beef patties with all the fixings, you also get a photo with Fugly Bob himself hung on the wall if you manage to eat it all. It's a great place.

We both get a normal sized burgers and split a basket of fries. After a few bites Dad puts his down and asks, "Honey, how are you feeling about all this? The lawsuit, starting a new school on Monday. A lot has happened in a relatively short period of time."

I think as I finish chewing my bite. "I'm ok with it. For once things seem to be going our way. We've had a tough time since Mom died, but I'm hopeful for the future for the first time in years. Thanks Dad. I really appreciate all you did to help make this happen."

"What can I say. You're my favorite daughter." He leans in and whispers conspiratorially, "Just don't tell your siblings."

Cue eye-roll.

He's such a dork, but I love him.

* * *

Arcadia High.

First day at a new school.

It's February and still cold as a witch's tit. Why are witches tits so cold anyways? Can't they just wear layers like everyone else? I stop that line of thinking, noticing my mind racing. What I'm actually doing is stalling for time, standing about twenty feet from the school's front entrance.

Thoughts keep running through my head. Will things be different here? How far behind am I in class work? Will I make any new friends? Will they also end up turning against me?

Stop! This isn't helping. Just muster up some courage and get this done. If I ever want to be a hero someday, I'll have to get used to facing challenges. I close my eyes and take two deep breaths. You can do this Taylor.

Courage sufficiently mustered, I take a step forward as I open my eyes...and promptly fall back on my butt. Crap. In my quest for courage I failed a perception check and walked right into someone. Someone who is currently bending over with a hand extended to help me up. Someone with a sigil floating in front of his forehead.

"What's the big deal Chris? You going to club her over the head and drag her back to your cave?" Glancing up to the left I see the really cute blonde girl that just spoke.

Holy. Crap.

She has THREE sigils.

"Ahem, are you ok? You didn't hit your head did you?" The boy she called Chris is looking at me with concern, still bent over with his hand extended. Oh. I guess I spaced out there for a few moments.

Taking his hand, he helps me to my feet. "Sorry, just a little nervous is all. Today is my first day here." I take a quick look around and see a small group of people have gathered around us.

Chris speaks up, "I'm sorry about that. My name is Chris. The blonde who thinks she's funny is Victoria. Next to her is Amy, her sister. The really ugly dude is Dean, Victoria's boy toy."

What is going on! ALL of them have at least one sigil. I'm trying so hard to not just stare and make a worse first impression. I know most of the local Wards go to Arcadia, but this is excessive! The first four people I meet at school, and they're all capes.

"Oh, um hi. My name is Taylor. I'm a sophomore and today is my first day here. Crap, I already said that. Sorry. I'll stop talking now." I feel my face getting red.

"Now who thinks they're funny? Dean is the best looking guy in school." Victoria says while winking at Dean. She's right. He _is_ super cute.

Victoria puts an arm around my shoulder and gives a small side hug. "Don't worry! We'll help make your first day here a good one." Wow. That's a lot of enthusiasm. I awkwardly back out of Victoria's hug and take a step to the side.

"Sorry. Not much of a hugger. But, um, if you could help me find the main office, I'd appreciate it. I have some placement testing I need to do, but I need to head there first." The heat slowly leaves my face.

The other girl, Amy, speaks up in a quiet voice. "Don't mind Vicky. She has absolutely no concept of personal space."

"Hey, that's not true!" Vicky sounds indignant, but I can tell there's no heat in it.

Oh, Amy and Victoria _Dallon._ Both are independant capes and part of New Wave. An independant superhero group consisting of two families here in Brockton Bay that decided to unmask in the hopes that more heroes would follow their lead. They said it was done to help promote parahuman accountability, but the movement never took off.

Amy is known as Panacea, one of the best healers in the world. Victoria, AKA Glory Girl, has flight, strength, and durability. Three sigils for three abilities...no that's not right. Strength and durability would both be part of a Brute sigil, so she must have another ability.

No matter how badly I want to whip out my notebook and start drawing, I know I can make time for that later. I still have to force myself not to stare at their sigils as we move inside.

While we walk Chris says he's a junior, while the other three are all seniors. At one point Vicky says, "Why don't you sit with us at lunch? We can introduce you to our other friends. It'll be great!"

Amy notices me hunch my shoulders a bit. "Vicky, tone it down. I don't think Taylor is used to this much attention."

I give Amy a grateful look. "You're right. At Winslow any attention I ever got was negative, so I avoid it like the plague. I'm not sure what my schedule is going to be today, but if I can I'll find you during lunch. Just don't, you know, jump up and down and scream my name to get my attention please." I have a sheepish grin as I say that last bit.

Vicky gives me the biggest pout I've ever seen not on a child. "You're no fun, but ok. I'll tone it down, just for you newbie. Here's the main office. Good luck on your tests Tay-Tay!"

As they turn to leave I call back, "Hey Vicky, could you do me a favor?"

Vicky looks back at me, the expression on her face hopeful that she can help. "Of course! What's up?"

I give her a smile so she knows I'm not mad. "Please never call me that ridiculous name again. Thanks." She answers with another huge pout. "Party pooper. Alright."

They seem nice. It's been a few years since I've had someone my age that I can talk to. After all the crap I went through with my last friendship, I really hope that things work out better this time around.

I easily find the secretary sitting behind her desk in the main office. "Hello. I'm Taylor Hebert. Today is my first day and I'm supposed to get my testing schedule?"

She gives me a warm smile. "Hello Taylor, we've been expecting you. I'm Ms. Simpson. I'm aware of your situation at Winslow and want you to know that you can come to me if you ever need help. Vice Principal Smith would like to meet with you before you start your day. I'll let him know you're here." Ms. Simpson hands me my schedule and has me sit outside VP Smith's office.

Five minutes later VP Smith opens his door and shows me into his office. "Have a seat. Finding everything ok so far?"

"Yes sir. Some students were nice enough to show me to the office. I have to say, it's a nice change from Winslow. No graffiti on the walls. No clusters of gang banger wannabes that I have to dodge. I'm happy to have a fresh start."

"Good, good. Glad to hear it. Superintendent Willingham briefed Principal Stapleton on your situation, and in turn she briefed the faculty. We pride ourselves here at Arcadia of holding to a high standard. We have a zero tolerance policy for violence or bullying. If any issues come up, please come see me or one of the other staff members. We're here to help. Now, after looking over your transcripts from Winslow, I'm seeing a trend of declining grades, but I'm guessing that was a result of the bullying?"

I nod my head. "I was a good student before the harassment started. I could have gotten into Arcadia, but I chose to go to Winslow to attend with a friend. Unfortunately that didn't work out for me. I might be a little bit behind, but I'm confident that with hard work I can catch up and do well here."

VP Smith beams at me and says, "Excellent. That's the kind of attitude that I like to see in our students. Stay positive, work hard, and you shouldn't have any problems here. If you feel like you're falling behind in any classes, talk to your teachers and they'll arange tutoring as needed Now off you go. Good luck on your placement tests. Do your best, but don't stress over them." With that he stands and shows me to the door.

Things are looking up.

* * *

"Time. Please put down your pencil Taylor." Mrs. Dodge is the teacher overseeing my testing for the day. I've had geography, history, and math so far. Between each test she gives me ten minutes for a bathroom and water break and to stretch my legs. "How do you think you did?"

Pausing to think for a moment I reply, "Not too bad. I don't feel like I'm as behind as I thought. I'm hoping I'll feel the same when this is over."

Mrs. Dodge smiles at me. "Good for you Taylor. I'm sure you'll do fine. Well, it's 11:20 and lunch starts in about ten minutes. If you want to gather your things, I'll walk you to the cafeteria."

Sitting in the cafeteria, I marvel once again at how nice and new everything looks here. The bell rang a few minutes ago and I can hear the low rumbling of chatter from the students heading my way. I packed my lunch like usual, but wait for Vicky and Amy to show up. If they invite me to eat with them, I don't want to be done with lunch already. I feel nervous, like there's a ball pushing against my stomach. I want to make new friends, but at the same time I'm scared. And worried my nervousness could easily become nauseousness. I think back on Emma's betrayal.

It was the summer before freshman year. I'd just returned from a two week camping trip, an annual girl scout troop event. I'd gotten home, hugged Dad, and quickly walked to Emma's house to share cool camp stories like we usually did. Only this time, when I got to her house, she was out on her front lawn with a girl I didn't know. Sophia. When I'd started talking, Emma quickly shut me down. Told me she didn't care, and that she'd only been pretending to be my friend. She even questioned how she could have ever been friends with a weakling like me. I didn't know if she was asking herself that question or me. The whole time Sophia stood there smirking. I don't know what changed, but I was crushed. I ran home, crying the whole time. So yeah, I've got some trust issues around the topic of friends.

The cafeteria doors open with a flood of teenage bodies. After a minute or so I see Vicky, FLYING, about five feet off the ground. She spots me quickly and beelines for my table, a small group following in her wake.

Well, at least she didn't shout out my name like I'd asked.

Soon enough there's a group of students sitting at the table as Vicky makes a round of introductions. Or at least she tries to before I hear a sharp, "Ms. Dallon! You know that it's against policy to use parahuman powers while at school in a non-emergency situation. I'm going to have to inform your mother about this." The faculty member speaking looks none too happy.

Vicky has the good grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry Mr. Brock, I promise it won't happen again. You don't need to call my mom. Please?" She's really trying to turn on the charm. Too bad it falls on deaf ears.

"Oh no, Ms. Dallon. I know your tricks, and I'll kindly ask you to tone down your aura. You said the same thing the last two times that you were caught. I think three days of detention should serve as a reminder not to break the rules again. Perhaps you can spend that time reviewing the relevant school policies surrounding the use of parahuman abilities while on campus? See me after school."

"Well crap." Vicky frowns, but doesn't really seem all that upset.

Amy on the other hand laughs out loud at her sister. "I told you it was going to bite you in the butt sooner or later. You ignore too many rules and hope that your aura and pretty face can get you out of trouble. Maybe this will teach you."

"Don't be mean Amy. I can't help it." Again with the pout.

"You can help it, you just don't try very hard." Amy replies.

I'm confused about the aura they keep mentioning, so I bring it up. "So, what aura are you talking about?"

Chris decides to chime in, "Vicky has a short range aura that can affect people's perception of her. Make them love her, or hate her. That kind of thing."

"I can't really control it very well." Quickly turning to her sister, "Amy, if you say anything else I'll give you the wedgie of a lifetime." Amy, who indeed had her mouth open to reply, wisely says nothing, but I see the smirk she hides behind her hand.

"Anyways, back to introductions." Vicky points out everyone at the table as she continues. "You already know Chris, Dean, and Amy. The guy on the end is Carlos. These two lovely ladies are Laura and Marisha."

I make eye contact and smile at everyone as they're introduced. Another cape! Carlos has two sigils, but none for Laura or Marisha.

I give a small wave. "Hey guys, nice to meet you." With that everyone pulls out their lunches and we start eating.

"So, how are the tests going so far?" Dean asks, speaking for the first time since he sat down.

Finishing the bite of my sandwich, I swallow before replying. "I feel like they're going well. Just three more this afternoon then I'm done. They aren't really pass or fail. I think they're supposed to help the teachers identify if I need extra assignments to catch up or something."

After that we all eat, occasionally breaking up feeding time with a little small talk. It's nice getting to know some new people. Still nervous, but as the lunch hour slips away the feeling is diminished.

I make the effort to talk to everyone, but spend more time talking to people with sigils. Using the extra time to study their sigils, I try my best to commit them to memory. I have no idea what will happen if I inscribe a sigil incorrectly, and don't want to find out the hard way.

Still, looks like some experimentation is in my future, and I can't wait to get started.


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: I added a short line to chapter 4 stating that Taylor can't see her own sigils in the mirror._

* * *

 **Playing with Powers**

* * *

My first week at Arcadia passed quickly. Testing went better than expected and I didn't have too many make-up assignments to complete. While I didn't score high enough to take any advanced classes, hopefully I'll do well enough this year to take some next year.

During that first week, I filled my notebook with sigils. I've learned that after studying someone's sigil for five minutes, my recall of them is near perfect. Other then the five Wards I'd already met, I've only seen one other person at Arcadia with a sigil. His name is Dennis, and he's also friends with all of the other Wards. It's an open secret that the local Wards team goes to Arcadia, and I'm pretty sure that I've met them all. It makes sense that they'd all hang out together. The only one I'm missing is Vista, but I think she's young enough to still be in middle school.

Dennis is a really funny guy, but he sure can push the limits of good taste. During one lunch, when we were all gathered together eating, Dennis decided it was time for a joke. Once he was sure he had everyone's attention he leaned in and said quietly, "Why don't blind guys go skydiving?"

"Because it scares the shit out of their dogs!"

We all groaned even while he couldn't stop laughing. Noticing our reactions, he deciding to try his luck once more and whispered, "So I heard that a blowjob can make your day, but that anal will make your whole week!" That joke earned him a slap on the back of the head from each girl present. We even politely lined up to take turns.

* * *

It's Friday and I'm home from school. A message on the answering machine from Dad says he'll be home at 7:00 with take-out. Awesome. That gives me about three hours to experiment in my basement lair. I really should start to work on my maniacal laugh if I'm going to keep calling it my 'lair'.

Taking a seat at the workbench, I open the small notebook I've been using to consolidate any new sigils into. Once I copy the sigils over, I destroy the original sketches from my school notebook. Can't have people seeing them and asking questions I don't want to answer. I'll also identify each sigil by its cape name versus a civilian one.

I've been collecting steel plates like the one I used to copy the Shadow Stalker sigil. The guy at the hardware store gave me a weird look when I purchased twenty plates all at once, but after explaining it was for a project my dad was working on, he just grunted a nod at me.

I've done some research on PHO, so I have a decent idea of what powers I'm getting into and by the end of today I should have a full work-up for all of them. These powers belong to the good guys, so I'm not planning on using the information I gain against them. Still, these detailed work ups should give me a good idea of my own limitations once I'm using these sigils.

There's a rhyme that people use to remember the 12 different power classifications:

 _Mover, Shaker,_

 _Brute and Breaker._

 _Master, Tinker,_

 _Blaster and Thinker,_

 _Striker, Changer,_

 _Trump and Stranger._

Mover is easy to explain; enhanced mobility. Some good examples include the local flying capes Glory Girl and Aegis. Mover can also includes things like teleporters.

Shaker powers are those that affect an area. A local villain from the Undersiders named Grue is a Shaker. He can cast a cloud of darkness. Any force field generators are also considered Shakers.

Brutes have increased strength and/or durability. Alexandria, one of the Triumvirate, is a great example of this. She is rumored to be able to lift hundreds of thousands of tons, and is seemingly near invincible.

Breakers shift into other states of being, like the mist form Shadow Stalker used to pass through my locker door so she could cram it full of filth.

Masters are one of the classifications that really scare people. They have the ability to manipulate/control other people, and can even create minions to do their bidding. The villain Heartbreaker is Canada's prime example. He has a harem of women that he controls to do his bidding. Thinking about being controlled like that makes me shudder.

Tinkers are the inventors of the cape world, often building things that are beyond current scientific understanding. Tinkers generally have a specialization that set them apart. Our local Protectorate leader, Armsmaster, specializes in efficiency and miniaturization.

Blasters use their power in ranged attacks. One of my new classmates, Gallant, is able to throw ranged blasts of emotions at his enemies and allies.

Thinkers are the information gatherers. They come in many different types. Some Thinkers are able to make intuitive leaps, the more information available, the bigger the leap. Other Thinkers have mild precognition. Uber is a local video game themed villain with his partner L33t. According to the wiki Uber is able to use his power to grant himself a temporary high level of skill at anything he focuses on, one skill at a time. Uber and L33t are mercenaries...maybe I can pay them for a meeting and study their sigils.

Strikers are the other side of Blasters. Rather than ranged attacks, they use their abilities at touch or melee range. Panacea has to be able to touch the people that she heals for example.

Changers are able to alter their physical appearance or form. Hookwolf from the Empire 88 can become a mass of metal hooks, blades, and other weapons. He can also change his overall form, which he normally uses to take on the appearance of a large wolf.

Trumps are unique in that they are always connected to one of the other eleven classifications. The way that they interact with other powers vary greatly. Some Trumps are able to boost the powers of others around them, while some are able to nullify powers. Other Trumps are able to borrow, steal, or copy the powers from other capes. Another cape from the Empire 88, Othala, is able to grant limited powers to others around her at a touch. Things like regeneration, flight, super strength, or speed.

Strangers are parahumans that excel in stealth and infiltration. Some are able to alter the senses or minds of others. Think blinding, illusions, or hallucinations. Some can become invisible or camouflage themselves. Some Strangers can even mimic the appearance, voice, and mannerisms of their targets. Shadow Stalker with her gaseous form could be considered to have a Stranger classification.

The classifications are really just a threat assessment that the PRT and heroes use to prepare for any encounters, and not all powers fit easily into a single classification. I've read that if a Tinker builds power armor then they can have a Brute and Mover tag added to their classifications. If they make any range weapons, you can probably add Blaster too.

Lifting up a plate in one Hand, I look at my page for Glory Girl. Forming a Talon, I etch the first of her three sigils. Slow and steady, I get a nice smooth sigil copied over. Setting the etching down, I focus and push Power into the sigil. Nothing happens right away, so I pick it back up and use a Hand to bend a corner. It bends fairly easily, so that's probably not her Brute sigil.

I withdraw my Hand from the plate, and stare in amazement as the plate hovers in place. With a glance at the clock, I mark the time. Using a finger I push the plate up, then down, and then side to side. After thirty seconds the plate clatters to the workbench. I can see that the Power I pushed into the sigil has faded.

I start the same process over, this time trying to get more Power into the sigil. I release the plate and it hovers in place. Gently batting the plate to one side, it floats about a foot away. The momentum doesn't seem to fully transfer to the plate. It acts more like the plate is weightless. Ninety seconds later the charge runs out with another clatter. After five more tests I find out that my charge limit is about five minutes. Seems that the etched sigil can't take any more charge then that. I'll try testing it out later with different materials to see if maybe that makes a difference.

So this is the sigil for flight. Flipping through my notes I find a page with two sigils on it and compare the two similar sigils, side by side. The sigils are _very_ similar, but not identical. This must be the page for Aegis then. The difference between the two sigils might have to do with differing top flight speeds, or perhaps acceleration rates. I'll check the wiki later and see if there's any specifics on their respective speeds.

I mark down flight next to both their sigils and compare Aegis' second sigil with Glory Girl's remaining two. I know that both Aegis and Glory Girl have a Brute rating, but after careful examination, I can't find any matching symbols. Glory Girl's Brute rating comes from her force field, whereas Aegis earns the rating from his redundant biology. It's just another reminder that the PRT classifications are threat assessments, and might not directly relate to the sigils I see.

Getting another plate, I etch Glory Girl's second sigil and charge it. Immediately I feel a barrier spring up around the plate. Grabbing the plate in two Hands, I try to bend the plate in half and can't. Using the same method as before, I discover that the maximum charge time for the sigil is again, five minutes. With a five minute charge in place, I grab a hammer in a Hand and give the plate a beat down. After roughly two minutes the charge is drained from the sigil. Hmm, I wonder what happens if I maintain my 'charge' connection to the sigil? Well, after 20 minutes I get bored and the charge is still fully topped off.

Happy with the prospect of having powered up gear, I make my notes next to Glory Girl's second sigil and move on to her third and final sigil.

Since I already know her other two sigils, I know that this sigil deals with her aura. Talon formed, I carve the last sigil into a new plate and give it a charge. Nothing. I see that the sigil is holding the charge, but other than that I can't feel or sense anything. Glory Girl doesn't seem to be affected by her own aura, so I might need a third party to test this sigil. I put the plate aside for now.

Moving right along, I flip to Panacea's page with her solitary sigil. Etch and charge...and nothing. The sigil doesn't even hold the charge. Interesting. It might be that it only works on living matter, or maybe it needs a mind to direct the power. 'Hello, I'm testing out my new powers. Do you mind if I carve a sigil into your flesh? It's for a good cause, I promise.' I'm not sure how I'll go about testing this one, and set it next to Glory Girl's aura sigil.

Just to be thorough, I etch and charge both of Aegis' sigils. His flight sigil operates the same as Glory Girl's, but his Brute sigil won't hold a charge. I know his Brute power works off his own physiology. First Panacea, and now Aegis. Maybe sigils dealing with living matter won't charge when placed on a non-living item like the steel plate.

Next, I have three pages with a single sigil each. Which is confusing, since the wiki and PHO both agree that Gallant is a Tinker, as well as a Blaster. Perhaps some purposeful misinformation, who knows.

Picking up a fresh plate, I etch and charge one of the remaining the sigils. Right away I notice that the plate locks into place, about three inches above the workbench. Unlike with the flight sigils, I can't make it budge one bit. So this is Clockblocker's sigil, the ability to freeze items and people in time. Another few rounds of testing with charge levels and I'm able to determine that the amount of freeze time equals the amount of charge put in when activated. Interestingly, once charged, I can't refill the sigil until the power fully discharges. Slowly filling the sigil up as I could with the flight sigils also isn't working. Instead, I have to build up a charge before applying it to the sigil. Five minutes is once again my cap limit on charge.

Just two left. New plate, new sigil, and _charge_. Nothing. No dice. The sigil won't hold the charge. Doesn't help me narrow down who's sigil it is, so I start a new pile.

Three piles of etched plates. One for known and functioning. One for known and needs testing, and a third pile for unknown and needs testing.

Let's hope the last sigil is more useful. I charge the plate after carving, but a few seconds later I can feel the charge drain out. Strange, none of the others did that. Does that prompt a new pile?

Ok, let's brainstorm. Last two could be the Tinker, Kid Win or Gallant the emotion Blaster. These sigils look nothing alike, so I'm going to say that Gallant isn't a Tinker. I don't see what applying a Tinker sigil to a piece of metal would really accomplish. It's not like the metal will suddenly transform into a shrink ray or something (although that would be badass).

So the sigil that didn't take a charge at all should belong to Kid Win. Let's see...Gallant fires blasts of emotion. Maybe I can think of an emotion while I charge the sigil.

Taking up the last plate, I give it a charge while thinking happy thoughts. The small piece of steel takes and holds onto the charge this time. Awesome. Maybe if I throw the plate at someone, I can get the sigil to discharge the emotion at my target. Once again, I need an extra body for testing, so it might be a little while before I'll have any answers. I move both the Kid Win sigil and the Gallant sigil into the known needs testing pile.

I take a quick trip upstairs to my bedroom to grab an old t-shirt that doesn't fit me anymore. A quick look through the drawers of my desk nets me a black sharpie. These supplies in hand, I head back to my lair. Muahaha. Hmm, still needs work.

Laying out the t-shirt nice and flat, I draw a flight sigil. Reaching out, I attempt to fill the sigil, but it's a no-go. There must be some other way to put a sigil on clothing. I could try stitching the sigil into the shirt, but I don't really know how to sew. I'll watch a tutorial on YouTube later and try.

The material is too thin to leave an imprint of any kind, but something thicker like leather should work well for that. The only leather in the house thick enough that comes to mind are Dad's belts, but I don't want to take them and have him notice. I'll have to buy some of my own later.

Looking at the clock, I see that it's 6:45. Dad's going to be home soon, but there's another thing that I want to test.

While researching my classmates' powers, I came across something interesting called the Manton Effect. Dr. William Manton was a scientist specializing in parahumans and how their powers work. The Manton Effect is the tendency for powers to either _fail_ to affect, or _only_ affect living targets. Most powers that fail to affect living targets stop before they penetrate living tissue. This explains why most telekinetics can't reach their power into your chest and crush your heart. On the other hand you have powers like Panacea's that only work on the living. The Manton Effect covers more complicated interactions, but that's the simplified version of it.

With my power I can easily crush and cut steel, but I need to know my limits. Something small, I don't want to accidentally maim myself and have to explain to Dad what happened. Rolling up my left pant leg, I form a Blade and brace myself. I drop my Shield and make a swift cut across the exposed part of my leg. Whew, huge sigh of relief. No blood, no pain, not even a scratch! I'm glad I have this limitation. I can't imagine myself wading through enemies, lopping off heads and limbs with blood spraying everywhere. Like that Quentin Tarantino film, Kill Bill.

There are other limitations I'm sure, but that's the big one I wanted to test out first.

Hearing Dad's truck pull into the driveway, I clean up the workbench and hide my sigil notebook. Pulling out a book, the third in _The Dresden Files_ series, I head up to the living room and pose as if I've been reading all afternoon. Dad walks in loaded down with plastic bags and says, "Hey kiddo, I brought Thai food. Hope you're hungry!" Mmm, Thai. What a great end to the day.

* * *

 _AN: Special thanks to my beta-reader Mat. Also, thank you to everyone that has left a review or sent a PM. I've had some great conversations and gotten some good ideas for the story._


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